Destiny of the Light: Shadow Through Time 1 (16 page)

The symphony inside her mind grew more strident and compelling, racing towards a thundering climax. Mihale turned her to face the waiting crowd. Khatrene raised her head, found Talis in the throng and kept her eyes on him. Her heart was pounding, and the hand that held Mihale’s felt sweaty and hot. Beside her the open volcano growled and rumbled.

‘Loyal subjects of Ennae …’ Mihale said, his voice deeper and more commanding than Khatrene had heard it before. Her skin prickled and she suddenly imagined that this was a stranger standing beside her, and that her idle thoughts about sacrificial virgins had some basis in fact. ‘… We come together today to celebrate not one lifeday or even two, but to see the fulfilment of a prophecy.’

A prophecy? Khatrene tried to concentrate, to remember if anyone had mentioned a prophecy since her arrival in Ennae, but the crazed symphony was plummeting to a conclusion, thundering inside her chest so hard she wondered how her heart could compete with it. Cymbals clashed and she shuddered at their echo throughout her body.

The final crescendo was stuttering to its peak as Mihale said, ‘Within our lifetimes the Four Worlds will be joined.’ He reached up and loosened the tie of her cloak, held it in his hands and turned back to his subjects. ‘The Light has reached Ennae!’

The deafening finale crashed through Khatrene’s body as Mihale tore the cloak from her shoulders and suddenly the whole hall was illuminated in a rainbow of colours.

Khatrene stood with her mouth open, gaping.

Mihale dropped to his knees beside her and she stared at him through a haze of multicoloured light. She looked up to the sky, then back to the floor of the hall where the crowd of people had fallen to their knees. Like light off a prism, beams of colour shimmered and bounced off the pale stone walls. In a hall full of people only Talis remained standing, and across the distance they stared at each other, both incredulous.

What is it?
 Khatrene wanted to ask him, but he was too far away.

She looked back to her brother and something in the way he was staring at her sank in. She raised one of her hands in front of her face, blinked, then swallowed hard.

She was the prism. Coloured light was pouring from her body everywhere the sun touched her, as though her skin was a paper lampshade.

‘This …’ She looked at both her hands, then back to Mihale.

There was no dizziness, no warning that she was going to faint. Khatrene simply dropped like a rock.

Standing at the back of the hall, Talis saw her slump and was away, more quickly than her brother who at least managed to save her striking her head on the stones.

Bhoo stood and faced the nobles. ‘All leave!’ he cried in a voice too big for his body, arms raised to gesture towards the arched doorway. ‘Retire to the banquet hall. The king and his Princess will join us there.’

Talis was past them and bounding up the stairs, skidding to a stop at his king’s side while Mihale laid her gently down and stood back, as though afraid. Talis was also afraid of his Princess who lay with the circlet fallen from her head and her hair in pretty disarray.

‘Is she harmed?’ his king asked.

‘I think not, Your Majesty,’ Talis replied. ‘Perhaps it is shock.’ He knelt to lay a hand on her forehead and the strange coloured light danced on his fingers. Though he was reluctant to touch her, he did so using his Guardian power to reassure himself that her mind was unchanged and her vitality high. The display of her aura had not changed her. He stood. ‘Your Majesty, she is well.’

‘But I am not,’ the King said, and then came the one-sided smile Talis had seen only in private. ‘I am scared out of my wits. You saw this wonder. How are you not amazed?’

‘Majesty, I too am awed, but I see the Princess unharmed and her mind unchanged. She is still the sister you know and love.’

Mihale shook his head. ‘She is a crystal of power. An unknown, unknowable —’

‘She is the same twin, Majesty, who poured ink into your shoes so you would mark the stones of the temple floor with your pious feet.’

Mihale’s frown faded and he found his smile again. ‘The tiny villain. I remember that,’ he said and grasped his Champion’s arm. ‘I miss your counsel when you are not here, Talis. Your mind is not full of intrigue and plotting, but gives me simple answers to simple questions.’

Talis inclined his head. ‘I bring no truths, Majesty, save to remind you of that which you already know.’

‘And in times such as these I need reminding.’ Both men looked back to the Princess and were silent a moment. ‘Yet, despite your counsel I feel fear in her presence,’ his King said softly, staring down at her. ‘Fear of my own sister.’

Talis made no reply. He had expected some proof of the prophecy to discharge his doubts, but never, even in dreams, had he imagined such wonder, such divinity.

Even now as Talis looked upon her, laid low by fear of her own powers, he felt awed by the destiny she would fulfil. Within her belly would grow a child to join the worlds. In Talis’s own lifetime, Ennae would be one with Magoria, Atheyre and Haddash. The peoples of the Four Worlds, so long separated, would finally become one. The ache of longing, the pain of loneliness, all would be gone, so said The Dark.

Yet Talis doubted that. As he looked upon his Princess and knew another man would father her child, he felt as though his loneliness and longing would never end.

‘M
y Lord The Dark, your daughter comes.’

Djahr of Be’uccdha turned away from his contemplation of the Everlasting Ocean with its impatient waves surging onto the rocks below — a view admirably suited to his mood that day. He waved his steward away. The man bowed and scurried back down the steps, leaving his master to wait on the open battlement of his East Tower.

It had taken days to bring Lae home and the agony of it had worn Djahr’s patience to bones. Yet at last she emerged into the sunshine, her arm held firmly by Mooraz who had brought her safely to her father. For a moment Mooraz continued to hold her, his deceptively slow glance seeking danger, his hulking form a reassuring weight beside his slight charge. But finding no threat, Mooraz released her to fly into her father’s arms, there to be held and stroked and cherished.

‘I had thought were you dead, child,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘I am glad to find you safe and unharmed.’ She hugged him close and Djahr let his cheek rest on her head, feeling at last the blessed relief her presence brought him. ‘When you next feel the urge to pay homage to your mother’s memory,’ he said softly, ‘you will take Mooraz for protection.’ Yet he said no more, for he had resolved not to berate her for fleeing a ceremony she should have eagerly anticipated — a ceremony that in deference to her fear he had decided to postpone.

It was enough for Djahr to know she had not been waylaid by Plainsmen or the Raiders of the forest, and he’d already had that reassurance by running messenger. She was safe and that was all he would concern himself with.

Raising his head, he glanced at Mooraz. ‘You gave our thanks to the King’s Guard who found her?’ he asked.

Mooraz nodded his braided head. ‘The Guardian Laroque.’

Before Djahr could reply to this, Lae muttered into his robe. ‘Talis was there with the White Princess.’

‘Daughter?’ Djahr pulled her away from his chest. ‘Did you see our King’s sister, returned to Ennae?’

Lae looked at her father, then slid a measuring glance at Mooraz. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘But I would speak of it only when we are alone.’

Djahr took his daughter’s hand and nodded for Mooraz to leave them.

The Captain bowed, his braided hair falling forward in thick clumps. ‘I will await My Lord’s call,’ he said, then straightened and descended the steps, the faint clunking of his sword against a thigh guard marking his exit.

Djahr led Lae to the parapet, and sat beside her while she tucked a fallen curl into her crudely fashioned haircoil and returned her hand to his. Her dress was soiled and dusty but Djahr wanted to hear her account before she retired to her chamber and her maids. ‘Tell me this news,’ he commanded.

Lae gazed at him as though to speak, yet seemed to struggle for words. ‘The White Princess is … changed, Father,’ she said at last, her voice soft as hoar grass and hesitant with uncertainty. ‘I could scarcely recognise within her the Khatter I once called my friend. I’m not sure, but I wondered … perhaps she is bewitched.’ Lae lowered her head and her voice. ‘Or plans to bewitch my betrothed.’

‘Bewitched?’ Disturbing enough that Mihale’s sister had been returned to Ennae without Djahr’s knowledge, but, bewitched? Foreboding, like a dark kernel, cracked within him and the miasma of unknown fears filled his chest. ‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘I saw the child not three years past —’

Lae looked up at him, ‘Father, she is no child,’ and squeezed his hand, as though begging for his belief. ‘She looks nearer in age to Talis than to myself. At first glance I thought she was … the Queen Danille …’ Djahr tensed at this name and could not still the sudden quickening of his heart, yet Lae shook her head. ‘But it was Khatter. My Khatter, grown to be a woman before me.’

Djahr could only stare at his daughter, wondering what unknown power in Magoria had aged the White Princess so quickly. And her brother, who had also appeared older than he should be.

Lae met his gaze. ‘If a woman bewitched is the master of my betrothed, should I fear for his safety?’

‘All should fear the coming of The Light.’
Djahr’s Shadow Woman slid invisibly behind his hair to press warm against his neck, and though he continued to stare at his daughter, Djahr’s thoughts lay shattered in his mind.

‘Khatrene of Ennae is … The Light.’ His voice had unconsciously taken on the deeper ceremonial tone expected of The Dark and Lae responded to it, touching a palm to her forehead, her eyes wide.

‘The Light?’ She spoke in a frightened whisper. ‘Khatter? The White Princess is … The Light, whose child will join the Four Worlds?’

‘
For once your daughter speaks the truth.
’

‘She is the same.’ Djahr’s assurance came from his habit of repeating the Shadow Woman’s truths as his own. Never yet had she been proved wrong in the many thousands of auras she had read for him. So although he felt awe himself at this pronouncement, Djahr did not doubt it. ‘The prophecy tells us The Light will not live by the days and minutes of our existence,’ he reminded his daughter. ‘You have seen this with your own eyes.’

Lae nodded. ‘And her child will be a shadow through time.’

‘Did I not tell you the day approached when I would share you with another?’
His Shadow Woman moved through his hair, massaging his scalp with fingers of air.
‘You must woo and wed The Light if you want her child be yours.
’

‘Of course,’ Djahr breathed. ‘The Light will find its quenching in The Dark.’

‘Father?’ Lae looked to him in consternation.

‘I must take The Light to wife,’ he said, staring blindly at his daughter. ‘Prophecy demands the child be mine.’

Lae’s hand rose to cover her mouth, her eyes searching his. ‘Then Khatrene will be my mother and the sacred child my kin?’

‘
The Light cannot be claimed
,’ the Shadow Woman warned. ‘
She must be won.
’

Djahr remained undaunted. ‘I have spoken. She will be my wife.’

His daughter stood before him, pale and trembling. ‘May I have your leave to retire, Father? This news has unsettled me.’

Djahr nodded and called to his Guard Captain, ‘Mooraz!’ then spoke again to Lae, ‘But join me for the evening meal. I will hear more about your meeting with the Princess. You will recall it all for me. Including her aura, which I assume you discerned.’ Though he should be pleased that the gift he did not possess had been inherited by his daughter, Djahr found resentment in his voice and wondered if it was this that caused her gaze to falter and fall away.

‘I saw … something, yet my powers are weak and unpredictable. You will see her yourself, Father.’

Djahr kissed her forehead. ‘We will speak again later,’ and she left his presence with only a glance at Mooraz who followed in her wake.

Restless now, Djahr descended the tower and strode to his own chambers, waiting only until the metal doors had clanged solidly behind him before questioning his Shadow Woman.

‘What do you mean that I must “win” her?’ he asked softly, moving past the thickly cushioned bed to the slatted light entering his chambers through a stone lattice wall.

A murmur came from behind his hair as she emerged from her hiding place: nothingness became vapour, then tincture and finally form. Where air had been moments before, now stood a beautiful woman, a woman designed solely for bedding. Even the cloth draping her lush curves was woven so finely and soft Djahr had never touched its equal.

‘The Light is already half-won, My Lord,’
the Shadow Woman murmured, her many-layered voice sunken to a timbre that would woo a blind man to passion. Her fingers, now solidly formed, brushed along his collarbone, her dark hypnotic eyes downcast, following their tracery.
‘Look at her with desire and she will fall under your spell.’

Djahr wondered why she came to him seductively. Was it a clue? ‘Shall I look upon her as I look upon you?’ he asked, slipping the robe from her shoulders to press her back against his thickly cushioned bed. Stripes of light illuminated her flawless skin.

‘Your destiny lies between her legs, Lord,’
she said, her breath sweet and hot on his face as he came to lean over her.
‘Plant your seed therein and your Kingdom is won.’
She peeled away his own brocade robe, rich with the swirling design of House Be’uccdha. A moment later her lips clung to his and he claimed pleasure there, feeding on desire that was as boundless as it was bountiful.

‘And if I plant my seed in you?’ he asked, when she let free his lips. ‘What bounty from that joining?’

‘No child,’
she replied, her breasts rising full and firm into his hands,
‘But a stilling of the reckless ambition I sense in you.’

Though his need was great, Djahr did not take her then, but instead gazed into her fathomless eyes, contemplating how his life had been enriched by her presence. A noble son of Be’uccdha, born without the discernment necessary to be The Dark, he could easily have died at the onset of manhood when his powers had failed to manifest. Yet instead of becoming the victim of his brothers’ ambitions, he had lived to see them die, sacrificed to Haddash to ensure The Balance. He had taken great pleasure in those pronouncements. And all thanks to the Shadow Woman.

‘Do you remember when you first came to me?’ he asked. ‘In the Hightower, when I was barely a man.’

She touched his cheek.
‘Your tattoo was fresh upon you when I came and soothed your pain.’

‘You soothed many pains that night,’ Djahr said, recalling his initiation to the pleasures of the bedchamber. ‘And continue to do so, yet ask nothing in return.’

She gazed at him silently, her hands moving in a practised erotic rhythm. Djahr felt frustration heighten his desire for her. In all the years she had served him, both in the bedchamber, and secretly at the King’s Council and performing his discernments, never once had she revealed either her sentiments or her intentions. Neither did he know her origin, though there were legends about such beings.

Djahr’s position on Ennae was second only to the King and afforded him great power, yet he could not make the Shadow Woman answer the simplest question, or be sure that any information she did offer was complete. Everything about her was a mystery, which both excited and maddened Djahr.

She kissed him then and he lost himself in his own turbulent passions. Their joining was fierce, the pleasure at its end an echoing roar in his ears, and only later, when he was sated and the Shadow Woman lay above him gazing into his eyes, did he think again of her instructions.

‘I must not he reckless in my pursuit of The Light,’ he said.

‘Patience and persistence will win over her doubts. Remember, she must come to you willingly.
’

‘Is there more that I should know?’ he asked, thinking how much easier the task would have been if the Shadow Woman had forewarned him of The Light’s arrival. Just as she should have cautioned him three years earlier that his Northern allies against the throne would retreat before the King was killed, leaving Djahr to carry out that unpleasant task and cast blame onto the King’s Champion Roeg.

Yet recriminations served no purpose as they would only meet the implacable wall of her silence. Still, had the Shadow Woman told him The Light was coming to Ennae he might have waylaid her journey and brought her to Be’uccdha. Now he must travel to the Volcastle and woo her away from the affections of her twin: a difficult task, knowing the bond between them.

‘Do not fear that you will fail,’
his Shadow Woman said, her breath against his throat as warm and real as his dead wife’s had been.
‘You will take The Light to wife and she will be as eager for your love as her mother was not.’

‘An ugly truth,’ he replied, yet treacherous satisfaction sung in his veins. How sweet such a union would be, to combine ambition for her brother’s throne with revenge on their mother who had scorned him.

‘What of the barbarians from the north?’ he asked. ‘They are timed to return —’

‘Stop them. They must not interfere.’

Djahr saw wisdom in this, yet he wondered if it could be accomplished. His northern allies were only now acceding to his demands to return and complete their invasion, and like a large, clumsy boulder rolling down a hill, once set on the course of destruction, they might not easily be diverted. Three years ago, the might of the combined great Houses had cowed them, and fearing decimation they had retreated over the mountains. Matters were different now. The disbanding of the King’s Council and the seeds of division Djahr had sown in Houses Sh’hale and Verdan would ensure the King’s allies did not rally to him as eagerly as they had in the past. A fresh invasion was assured of victory and Djahr would then take the throne, yet if that victory interfered with the destiny of The Light, there would be no worlds left to rule.

That the vessel of the sacred child had appeared in their world at this time meant the Maelstrom would soon be upon them. Unchecked, that Maelstrom would tear the Four Worlds apart, for only the child of The Light could control its power and mould it to his will. Djahr felt awe knowing he would father that child, yet he also felt frustration in equal parts, for only after the birth could he pursue his own ambitions. It would be foolish to claim a world, or even four, which would soon be destroyed.

‘
You will succeed
’ the Shadow Woman declared, and Djahr felt the surety of it flow through his veins. His agent at the Volcastle would work to ensure The Light succumbed to his courtship. Soon enough he would be King, then more.

‘And you will be my Queen,’ he promised, caring nothing for the woman he must woo and wed, she who was merely the pathway to his future.